CHAPTER XIX Santa Claus
Terry and Arden drew closer together, instinctively, for mutualprotection. It was uncanny to see this strange, scarlet figure caperingabout in the little clearing, seen through a screen of fir trees andagainst a background of gleaming white snow.
"The ghost of Patience Howe," murmured Arden, recalling the story Grannyhad told--recalling what the men had said about seeing an apparently deadwoman, in a red cloak, on a bed in the old Hall. And that figure hadmysteriously vanished.
Now it was in sight again--at least, some figure was there. There was nomistaking it, for it was too plain to be anything else but a moving elfinthing.
"Oh," whispered Terry, "do you think, Arden, that Harry could havedisturbed it?"
"Disturbed what?"
"This ghost--I mean, perhaps he came upon the place where it hides in thehouse and it ran out--no, ghosts don't run, they sort of float, likesmoke, don't they? Oh, Arden, I'm frightened!"
Then, fascinated, they watched and saw the red-clad figure seeminglycapering about, doing a strange dance in the snow. And suddenly itstarted toward where they were half hidden by bushes and trees. Comingtoward them!
"Oh!" screamed Terry. "Come on, Arden!" She turned to run, uttered asudden cry of pain as she clutched her right ankle and sank downhelplessly in the snow.
"Terry! What is it?" begged Arden, dropping to her side.
"My ankle! I twisted it when I turned to run! Oh, how it hurts! I hope Ihaven't broken it!"
"I don't believe you did, my dear! Ankles don't break as easily as that.Oh, I'm so sorry!" She took some snow up in her hand and pressed it onTerry's forehead, now wrinkled with pain. It flashed into Arden's mindthat she was going to have trouble getting Terry back to Sim'shouse--walking with even a slightly sprained ankle was out of thequestion. Then, with a feeling of relief, she thought of Harry in theghost house. She would have to leave Terry there in the snow, however, togo get him to come to the rescue.
"I'm so sorry," Arden murmured. "Poor Terry!"
"It was silly of me--making so much trouble. But, oh, Arden--the redghost! Look, it's coming right for us!" She was facing in the directionof the strange red figure; Arden had her back toward it. But at Terry'scry Arden looked around, and then she had to laugh, even with all thetrouble they seemed to be in. And a moment later Terry also laughed, inspite of her pain.
For it was no red-cloaked ghost of Patience Howe that was bouncing overthe snow toward the two girls. It was--Santa Claus!
A rotund figure of a jolly little man with a real beard of lovely whitehair--no cotton whiskers on this St. Nicholas--came prancing through theunderbrush, scattering snow. He was no ghost, the girls were assured ofthat in a moment, for he addressed them in very human accents. But evenwith all this reality it was a puzzle.
"Well, well, young ladies! I thought I heard somebody scream!" began thelittle man. "I was over in that clearing, practising, and I saw youbehind the trees, and I sort of thought you'd think it queer, and Iturned to come and explain. Then I heard a scream and----"
"My friend turned suddenly and sprained her ankle," Arden interposed. "Itis very painful--I'm afraid she can't walk."
"Luckily I can take care of that," said Santa Claus. "It was partly myfault, I reckon. Gave her a start, naturally--seeing me in this rig.That's why I came out here to try it on. I knew it would look sort ofsilly to anybody who didn't understand. I'm terrible sorry."
"But why are you dressed up this way?" asked Arden. Terry was just aboutable to stand and, resting with her head on her chum's shoulder, her faceshowed she was suffering. Really the ankle was very painful.
"It's easy explained," said the little man, pulling at his luxuriantbeard, a thing he never would have dared to do had he been wearing amasquerade whiskers. "My name is Janson Henshot, I live over at BayleyCorners, and I'm superintendent of the Sunday-school there. Up to thisyear we always had, for the Sunday-school children, the little ones, youknow, a Santa Claus with a false beard. The part was played, off and on,by Jake Heller or Sam Bendon.
"But last year one of the little boys gave the beard of Santa Claus apull when he was handing out the presents, and the beard came off, and itsort of spoiled things. So, when Christmas was talked of this year,somebody said I'd do fine for Santa Claus, as my beard's real and it'llstand a lot of pulling and won't come off!" He demonstrated, laughing.
Even Terry smiled now, for she was listening and had opened her eyes.This, truly, was a comical experience, to find a real Santa Claus in areal wood.
"So I said I'd be Santa Claus," went on Mr. Henshot. "All I needed wasthe uniform, and my wife made this one. Not bad," and he looked proudlyat his red coat and trousers, trimmed with real white rabbit fur, and athis glossy black boots.
"It's perfect!" declared Arden.
"Glad you like it! Well, after I got the uniform and I didn't have toraise any beard, I decided I needed some practice to act right as SantaClaus, me never having played the part before, though I've watched theothers. So I put the uniform in my old flivver and came out here in thewoods to rehearse, as you might say. This is the second time I've doneit. I act like I think the old fellow would act with a lot of happychildren around him--sort of skipping and prancing. Am I keeping you toolong? I wanted to get it down right before I went out into thatSunday-school crowd. And that's what I was doing--rehearsing--when yousaw me. Guess you must have thought it sort of odd."
"We--we thought you were a ghost!" murmured Terry.
"Ghost! My stars!"
"The ghost of Patience Howe, on account of the red," explained Arden.
"Oh--Patience Howe--I see--her as is supposed to have been aroundSycamore Hall in the Revolution and hid her horse from the soldiers. Yes,that's a story around here, but I don't know--ghosts--no such animals ifyou ask me!" He laughed heartily.
"I suppose you have heard," suggested Arden, "that the ghost of Patience,in her red cloak, is said to wander around the old Hall at times."
"Oh, yes, I've heard that story, but nobody I know ever saw any ghostlike that. Though, now you speak of it, I did hear that the contractorwho's tearing down the Hall has been having trouble with his men onaccount of queer happenings. But I don't take any stock in 'em. Justrantings of the Negro and Italian laborers, I reckon."
"Some queer things have happened there," said Arden. "But now what are wegoing to do? I must get Terry home as soon as possible--a doctor mustlook at her ankle at once!"
"I know--sprained ankles can kick up quite a fuss. But as I'm sort of toblame for this, I'll do my best to remedy the trouble. I shouldn't havekept you here so long talking, by golly! I've got my flivver parked overnear where I was rehearsing. I can run it here--no trouble at all--myflivver'll go up the side of a barn. And we'll put your friend in andI'll run her home in a jiffy, if you want me to."
"I think that will be the best thing to do," said Arden. "We have afriend in Sycamore Hall----"
"You have!" cried Mr. Henshot. "Why, I was told Granny Howe couldn'tprove title to the place and she had to get out and it's being torndown."
"That's right," Arden assented. "But the friend I speak of is just inthere temporarily, looking for ghosts."
"My stars!" exclaimed Santa Claus. "Well, I'll go get my flivver. Be backright quick. Don't let her step on her ankle. I'm mighty, mighty sorrythis happened!"
He ran away with surprising speed for such an elderly man, his whitebeard flying in the wind, and almost before Arden could shift Terry to alittle easier position on her shoulder Mr. Henshot was back with hiscreaking roadster.
To Arden's surprise he still wore his Santa Claus suit.
"Aren't you going to take that off?" she asked, for she knew he had it onover his other clothes.
"Got no time!" he said briskly. "We got to get this young lady to adoctor right away. I'll drive you just as I am. I don't mind," he saidquickly. "It's in Pentville, and nobody'll know me there. I wouldn't wantto drive through Bayle
y Corners like this, for it would sort of spoilthings for the youngsters if they see me ahead of time. But it's allright in Pentville. Drive you just the way I am!"
Terry was feeling too miserable to object, and Arden realized it would beuseless. Besides, she knew Terry must have her injured ankle looked to assoon as possible. After all, perhaps no one the girls knew would seethem.
Terry managed to hobble on one foot and, assisted by Arden and SantaClaus, was placed on the rear seat of the car with her chum to hold heragainst the rough riding. For it would be rough getting out of thestretch of woods and clearing.
"Might as well take this holly you picked," said Mr. Henshot. "It'll lookright pretty in the car with me dressed like Santa Claus and all thissnow coming down. A regular white Christmas!" he chuckled. "Rightpretty!" He piled the branches in with the girls, putting some in theempty seat beside him, and slid under the wheel.
Then he started the car, driving carefully, after Terry gave a littlemoan of pain at a sudden jolt.
"I'll have to take a short cut," he explained, "so we can't go past theHall and pick up your ghost-hunting friend. Sorry, but I can't go thatway."
"It's all right," said Arden. "He has a car."
She wondered what those who saw the strange outfit would say, but thisheld only a moment's interest. Terry's injury might mean a curtailment ofsome of the Christmas festivities, besides all poor Terry's suffering.
They were out of the woods at last and on a smoother road, not havingpassed either Granny's cottage or the Hall. In a short time they were onthe outskirts of Pentville and entered the town by a back road. So notmany saw them, and those who did, while they smiled and laughed andpointed, put it down to an advertising stunt. Arden saw no one she knew,Terry saw nothing but Arden's kind shoulder which she leaned against.
But when the auto of the modern Santa Claus drew up at Sim's house andMoselle answered Mr. Henshot's ring at the door, she jumped back withfright.
"Mercy sakes alive! Whatever is this? A real live----" Moselle was mosteloquent when silence seized her.
The Mystery of Jockey Hollow Page 19
